


Never the First

by the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Breakfast, Captain America Mythos, Conversations, Depressed Steve Rogers, Food, Gen, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, making friends is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Steve’s used to getting overlooked. Before the serum, it was all too easy to dismiss him. Ever since the serum, he’s been Cap first, Steve second. Doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier, in any form it may take.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	Never the First

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: somewhere fairly shortly post Avengers. We are tweaking the timeline a bit to introduce Sam closer to 2012 and Steve’s “unmoored” period when he’d gotten to know all of the Avengers, but wasn’t really super close with them yet. I’m calling this Sam/Steve pre-slash because they’re probably actually in a long-distance relationship already, but neither of them are really ready to admit it yet.
> 
> End notes: This fic is loosely based off of a real outing years ago that I didn’t get invited to and people would be like “Remember when ___? Good times!” and I wasn’t sure if they just talked about it in front of me even though they knew I wasn’t there, or if they forgot to invite me and just thought I must have been there somewhere.

Steve looked over at the knife, placed on the edge of the sink in the universal signal of ‘I haven’t decided if I’m done eating yet,’ and finished the last bite of his bagel. He leaned back against the counter and debated the merits of sweet versus savory cream cheeses and what bagels they paired best with. It was a fairly uneventful Tuesday morning in the Tower and he almost didn’t mind the quiet. Thor was out with Jane. Bruce was sipping his personal tea blend while reading some journal article. Natasha was having leftover pizza for breakfast and Tony was eyeing the pizza jealously while he ate his egg white omelet, fresh fruit, and whole grain English muffin. Clint, as usual, hadn’t made it down to breakfast yet. Sure, it might be nice if they talked to each other a bit more, but as long as Tony wasn’t deliberately trying to rile anyone up before 10 am, Steve called that a win in his book. He picked the knife back up and decided to do walnut cream cheese on a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel.

The toaster popped right as Clint entered the kitchenette. He yelped and stumbled a little. Bruce glanced up at him.

“You look rough,” Bruce offered, no judgement in his words. “Tea?”

Clint shook his head. “No thank you. I’ve had tea, and whatever you’re drinking there, that’s not tea. That’s some kind of hot leaf juice.”

“Technically, all tea is hot leaf juice,” Natasha teased. Steve smiled at that, a silent little laugh. Contrary to popular belief, Natasha did actually have a sense of humor.

“Not _sweet_ tea, aka the only tea worth drinking. Sweet tea is _cold_ leaf juice,” Clint said, reaching for the coffee maker. He eyeballed the amount of coffee left in the pot, shrugged, and picked the whole carafe up and took a long sip.

“Dude, not cool,” Tony interjected, pointing a strawberry accusingly at Clint. “Other people need coffee, too. Wash that when you’re done and put another pot on to brew.”

Clint made an indeterminate sort of grunt and continued drinking.

“I mean it, arrow-boy,” Tony said without heat.

“Look, I need my coffee,” Clint said between sips. “I don’t know what you put in those drinks, but I’m still hungover.”

“ _Still_?” Bruce asked, his face looking both aghast and impressed. “That was on Saturday night.”

Steve perked up a little, listening in without being too obvious about it. Had Saturday been something special? He ran through his mental list of team birthdays, anniversaries, any dates it would behoove him to remember. Nothing came to mind. He thought he’d been pretty good about adding likes and dislikes, important dates, whose day it was to pick up bagels, things like that, to his mental catalogue. Trying to get to know his teammates better. He’d even managed to finagle Natasha’s secret preference for frou-frou lattes out of her, chatting over workouts in the Tower gym.

“Oh no, that is _not_ my problem,” Tony said through a bite of omelet. “ _You’re_ the one who challenged Natasha to a drinking contest.”

“Yeah, but you encouraged me,” Clint whined.

“No, actually he didn’t,” Natasha cut in. “You saw me drinking a bloody mary and proceeded to inform me that you still held the record for ‘Most Bloody Marys Consumed In One Night Without Puking Or Ending Up In The Hospital’ at a frat house at a college you never attended, and said ‘I bet I could still do that’.”

“Hey, I’m proud of that record,” Clint muttered.

“Long story short, you could not,” Natasha shrugged and flipped her pizza crust into the trash. “You _also_ could not do The Worm as drunk-you said you could.”

Bruce tried and failed to smother a laugh in his tea.

“Well, at least I managed to keep everyone entertained, thank you, thank you, you may applaud any time now,” Clint said making a showy bow.

“Well, maybe not everyone,” Tony said, jabbing his thumb over at Steve, who merely looked mildly perplexed. “Capsicle looks as humorless as usual.”

“That’s not entirely fair,” Natasha said, glancing over at Steve. “I’ve heard him crack a few jokes during travel time on SHIELD missions.”

“While that may or may not be true, right now he’s still doing his best dour grandpa impression,” Tony replied. He turned to Steve. “Hey Cap, did you even know what he meant by ‘The Worm’ before he started doing it? Not that that was a particularly good example of The Worm.”

Steve shook his head. Partly because clearly Tony expected it from him, but mostly because he most certainly had not been present at whatever event where Clint had tried to do whatever dance move The Worm was. He had spent his Saturday night in his room, catching up on a couple movies from The List and casually texting back and forth with Sam, who had been stuck in Washington doing paperwork on a Saturday evening. It had been a nice night. He liked whatever thing it was he had with Sam, liked how he looked forward to their conversations and visits. Sam had said the texts had been keeping him just distracted enough from the tedium of forms and the frustration of unplanned overtime, and Steve had been glad to do what he could to help out. He certainly didn’t regret anything from _his_ Saturday night, but he was a little confused that everyone else seemed to have been otherwise occupied with an event he was only just now learning about.

Steve took a bite of his bagel and gave a vaguely coherent mumble. “I mean, it sure was _something_ …”

“That it was,” Tony nodded in agreement.

Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrutinized his lock screen, and pretended to read the text he hadn’t gotten. “Sorry to cut breakfast short, but I gotta run,” he announced, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Maybe he ought to stick around, find out more of what he missed, but he didn’t feel particularly wanted right now. There had been a team party of some sort three days ago and he was only learning about it _now_ …

“Leaving us so soon?” Tony asked.

“SHIELD business,” Steve shrugged.

“I didn’t get anything,” Natasha said, pulling her phone out to check.

“You know how SHIELD is,” Steve explained casually, grabbing another bagel on his way out.

“Unfortunately I do,” Natasha sighed, watching Steve recede. “It’s probably another meeting that could’ve been an email, and they do like to have Cap around for photo ops.”

\--------------------

The morning passed into afternoon as Steve rode south. His motorcycle was his sanctum; the scenery rushing by, the privacy of a helmet, and his thoughts all to himself. The time to think was a double-edged sword today, though. His mind wandered back, stirring up the sediment of old memories. It hadn’t been _all_ bad, obviously, but being forgotten, left out, it stung. It felt much the same now as it did before he’d gone in the ice.

Steve had never been a very popular kid. Too scrawny, too opinionated, too weird. If it hadn’t been for Bucky, he probably never would’ve gotten invited anywhere, wouldn’t’ve had _any_ friends. The other kids didn’t want him in their games because he couldn’t keep up. He was too artsy, too odd, too sick. As he grew, the doors stayed closed. He had classmates of course, people he talked to at school, but they were never close. They never invited him over, and he’d long ago learned not to ask because then, at least, he wouldn’t get a half-hearted half-truth about why they couldn’t hang out.

As Steve grew, he got into more fights. Partly because they were the _right_ things to fight for, partly because then, at least, someone outside of his own small family or Bucky’s kind-but-busy family was paying attention to him. Maybe it wasn’t the right kind of attention, but when you’ve starved long enough, anything will do. He couldn’t keep putting his whole weight onto Bucky, couldn’t keep asking him to put his other friends aside just to make room for him. Bucky had a good job, coworkers who he’d go out for drinks with, girls he’d take dancing. He’d drag Steve along, try to set him up on dates, but nothing took. Steve appreciated the gesture, appreciated how Bucky tried, but every rejection still hurt.

When Doctor Erskine came along, it was like a rush of air, a new door opening. Finally, another person who saw him for who he was, who he _could_ be. And though his time with him was far too short, the serum opened up a whole new set of possibilities. And pitfalls. Steve had to learn very quickly who _actually_ wanted to be friends and who just wanted the perks of being known as “Captain America’s friend.” Who wanted to talk _to_ him, and who wanted to talk _over_ him.

And then there were the Howling Commandos… Steve blinked to try to clear his head, not accidentally drive off the road. He missed those guys so much. They’d been Bucky’s friends first, like almost everyone else he’d been acquainted with, but they had accepted him for him. Once they’d gotten past the cheesy costume and the stories about the stage show, they’d made him one of their own. The camaraderie, the good times and the bad times, they were all there for each other. The Avengers, Steve supposed, had the _potential_ to be someone like the Howlies, but it was gonna take time and work. Sure, they meshed well in crisis, but who were they in peacetime, in their giant tower? Did they have a place in their circle for him in peacetime? Who was _he_ in peacetime, for that matter? They’d figure things out eventually—they’d _have_ to—but right now, he needed some time away from them.

He didn’t regret joining the Avengers, didn’t regret joining SHIELD. He liked helping people, but sometimes he wished there was more of a balance between being Cap and being _Steve_. The passage of time had not been kind, throwing his sense of who he was out of joint. For him, it felt like he’d only been Cap for a few years, but for everyone else, there’d been almost seventy years of _myth_ developed. And Coulson certainly didn’t help. Steve didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, but it felt like Coulson had seem him as one of his collectables or a museum piece, not as a real person, and it kind of rubbed off on everyone else. 

Enter Sam Wilson. Steve had run into Sam, almost literally, on his morning run. Once he’d found his feet again and made sure Sam was ok, they’d clicked immediately. The run led to coffee, the coffee led to a chat, and then that was that. They were both military men with recent losses and a sense of uncertainty of where they wanted to be, where they _needed_ to be in life. Sam hadn’t treated him like a celebrity, which he was thankful for, and there was just something about Sam that made Steve want to try out this whole “friends” thing again. They talked. About work, about the military, about TV and recipes and birds and hobbies and whatever else either of them had on his mind. They’d go for runs when Steve was in town, and chat on the phone or by text when he wasn’t. 

So it was no surprise that when Steve took his bike out onto the road to clear his head, he found himself drawn south, like iron to a magnet, to Washington and to Sam. Someone who he could just be _himself_ around, someone who liked him for who he was and not just for what SHIELD or the Avengers or the Smithsonian said he should be.

\-------------------

The evening found Steve humming contentedly as he stirred together a pot of linguine with mushrooms, shallots, and a roasted red pepper garlic cream sauce for dinner. Once he’d reached Washington, he had stopped by his apartment for a couple things, headed over to SHIELD to check up with a few people just so his excuse wouldn’t be a _complete_ lie, then swung by the VA where Sam worked. To see how he was doing, talk for a bit, maybe set up a time when they could hang out later. Sure, he could’ve done it all over the phone, but after the morning’s conversations, he felt the need for a little human contact. Someone he wanted to talk to who _also_ wanted to talk to him and wasn’t just forced to by proximity.

Steve had arrived at the VA a little before when Sam would usually be clocking out, wanted to catch him before he left. Wanted to see if they could get dinner somewhere, talk, catch up, just hang out. Sam, unfortunately, had been still buried in work, but he had said as long as Steve didn’t mind take-out and waiting a bit longer, sure, he could come by. He’d love to hang out. Steve had offered to cook dinner, he’d found a new recipe he wanted to try out, just let him pull up the bookmark on his phone. The warmth he’d felt inside when Sam had smiled at him and said yeah, he’d like that, it felt really good. 

The morning’s uncomfortable revelation still lingered in the back of his mind as Steve cooked, but it had diminished considerably since he had arrived in Washington. He tasted the pasta, added a bit more salt, and decided to call it done. He didn’t need to lay that problem at Sam’s feet, he just needed to share some good food with a good friend and let it all recede in the comfort.

“I’m happy you’re here, but weren’t you supposed to be in New York for another week? It’s only Tuesday,” Sam asked as he sat down at his kitchen table.

“We’re not very busy right now and I just wanted to come down, see how you were doing. Saturday sounded like it was kinda rough,” Steve explained as he dished out the pasta.

Sam made a noncommittal noise and accepted the plate from Steve. “I mean, it wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t _awful_. And by the time you called me, it was pretty much all just retyping reports and getting the files back together, so I was glad I had you to talk Star Trek with so I wouldn’t fall asleep on my keyboard. I’d rather be busy than bored; if I can keep my mind occupied, it doesn’t have time to wander onto bad memories. I’m working on it, but my therapist says some things never really leave us, so we just have to figure out how to minimize the damage.”

Steve nodded silently and twirled some pasta onto his fork. He knew that feeling all too well, the things that dwell in the dark corners of the mind.

“But I’m sure you didn’t come all the way down here to listen to me talk about work and therapy. What’s on your mind?” Sam asked. He took a bite of pasta, waiting for Steve to answer.

“Do I need a reason to come see you?” Steve asked with a shrug and a smirk. “Other than work, how’s your life been treating you?”

Sam raised one eyebrow; he recognized Steve’s deflection. There was more to it than just that, but if Steve didn’t wanna talk about it, he wouldn’t push him. He was enjoying this night, no need to make it any more complicated than Steve wanted to let it get. “Other than work, things have been pretty quiet down here, too,” he explained. “Been seeing my therapist, going on early morning runs, the usual. I went to the Edo Aviary art exhibit, old Japanese bird paintings, at the Freer last weekend before work got too hectic.”

“Yeah? Was the exhibit good? I need to make time to get to a few more museums, myself.”

“I think you’d like it, and it’s not there for very long, so if you’re gonna go, go soon. Cherry blossom festival’s also happening in a couple weeks, do you think you’ll be down here to see it with me? It’s well worth it, and hopefully things will have calmed down enough by then so we can go together.”

“Yeah, I hope so too. I’d like that,” Steve said, his smile reaching his eyes. Maybe things weren’t quite so bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Assuming I'm actually writing again for real, there should be some less-depressing fic coming up. We definitely need some happier moods right now, but this one also demanded to be written because sometimes I'm just Sad.


End file.
